Lately I've been thinking about the
commercial and artistic possibilities of training a chimpanzee to DJ. How
hard could it be? Give the chimp some records to choose from, teach him to
put them on a turntable, charge $500 for a 2-hour set. It could work. As
if to test the theory, while showing movies and playing 45s at
Fremont Coffee's
customer art show tonight, Dylan's 2½-year-old starting picking records
out of my crate and put together an excellent set. He was pretty selective,
too, choosing only those whose covers appealed to him. He brought a really
nice energy to the evening. Childish enthusiasm rules!

I had also brought a fog machine in the hopes of creating a psychedelic vapor
sculpture with the projector. Many of the grown-ups were quick to express
their disdain for fog, wondering aloud if they'd been trapped in a cheesy
rock video. Bowie, however, couldn't get enough of it and quickly learned
how to operate the machine. He danced and jumped for joy, waving his arms
through the swirls of light. His glee opened the eyes of those whose prejudice
had blinded them to the beauty.